


Getting Used

by MissjuliaMiriam



Series: Garrett Hawke [2]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Anxiety Disorder, Bottling Up Feelings, Gen, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-10
Updated: 2015-10-10
Packaged: 2018-04-25 18:00:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4970887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissjuliaMiriam/pseuds/MissjuliaMiriam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This fic is sort of subtitled "Varric Gets A Clue". Wherein Garrett continues to not deal well with Carver going off to join the Templars, and Varric maybe starts to get the idea that Hawke Is Not Okay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Getting Used

**Author's Note:**

> Poor Garrett. I do such terrible things to him. Eventually I'll write something cute and happy. Maybe. One would thing I'd have to; after all, how much angst could I possibly write?

"Hey, Hawke, how's it going?"

Garrett glances up from the washing, and then back down. He's still trying to get the smell of the Deep Roads out of his good robe; he's essentially lost all hope at this point, but he had little else to do. "Varric," he says. "Hey."

Varric swaggers into the room, plopping down on Garrett's bed and crossing his legs at the ankle. "That wasn't exactly an answer, y'know."

Garrett shrugs and lets the fabric slide into the water, then wipes his hands on his breeches. "I'm fine," he says. "Just waiting for you to show your face."

Varric grins slyly and pulls a large pouch off of the back of his belt. "Well, here's what you've been waiting for," he says, and tosses the bag to Garrett. It clinks promisingly when Garrett catches it. "That's only the beginning. I'm sure by the end you'll have more than enough to buy that house of yours back, and plenty of other stuff beside. Including some new robes."

Garrett huffs a breath of a laugh. "Thanks, Varric. I'm surprised you didn't get mugged."

Varric pats Bianca, strapped across his back. "Oh, you know me," he says. "I can handle myself."

"Fair."

Things are quiet for a moment. Garrett stares into the murky wash water, one of his hands tight around the purse. Varric watches Garrett.

"So," Varric says, finally, "where's Junior?"

Garrett's whole body goes tense so suddenly that it hurts. He doesn't say anything for a long time, and then forces out of a closed throat, "Out."

"Oh?"

Garrett's head slumps. "He - he won't be joining us any more."

"What happened?" Varric asks, frowning.

Garrett can only shake his head. He can feel the panic rising again, like it has so many times in the past few days, but he forces it down. He can't let Varric see him like that; it was embarrassing enough to break down in front of Gamlen and his mother the other day. "He's gone," he says. "I - he's gone."

Varric rocks back, his eyes wide. "Did something happen while we were in the Deep Roads? Was he sick?"

Garrett's head snaps up. "Not - not like that," he says. "He's still _here_ , just--"

"Then _what happened_ , Hawke?"

"He joined the Templars," Garrett says, the words spilling out like water. "He joined the Templars - Varric, he hates me, he's _always -_ and now. Now he's gone." Garrett has to stop and bury his face in his hands and stare at the blackness behind his eyes. He says, muffled by his palms, "He's gone. He's not coming back."

Varric swallows hard. "Hawke..."

Garrett forces back the tears, the panic, the fear. Shoves it all down into a tight ball inside, wraps in it a comfortable insulation of guilt and exhaustion, tucks it behind his ribs. He puts it all away like that will make him feel less like he wants to die; he _deserves_ to die for everything he's done. Varric won't understand. So he hides all the parts of himself that are ugly and undesirable and _cowardly_ , just like always, and slides Hawke back on over Garrett. "Sorry," he says. "Lost it for a minute there."

Varric just looks at him. Just _looks_ , with those eyes that have always seen just a little too much. The benefits of a different perspective, Garrett thinks, a little hysterically; he has to shunt the laughter down with all the rest so that he doesn't crack apart. "You okay?" Varric says, finally.

Garrett shrugs. "It'll take some getting used to."

Varric purses his lips like he heard the unspoken _I'll never be used to this; it will never be okay_. "If you say so," he says, slowly. "I'm going to go. Leave you alone for a bit. Come by the Hanged Man when you feel ready, huh?"

"Sure thing, Varric," Garrett says. Like it won't take every last scrap of strength he has to drag himself up off the floor in a few hours, never mind all the way to the Hanged Man. But he has people waiting for him. Waiting for him to buy a round and make a toast to dead darkspawn. Waiting for him to grin and throw his arms around their shoulders and laugh at Varric's jokes. Waiting for him to provide the listening ear that he has always offered so readily. Waiting for him to be the hero, one more time, and one more time after that, and one more time after that.

 

**Author's Note:**

> As always, comments and kudos are very welcome. I can be found on Tumblr [here](http://motherfuckingnazgul.tumblr.com/).


End file.
